Psychic Warrior

Chapter Twenty-three

Feteror’s roar vibrated the metal in the hangar. “How can you not be ready! You have the program!”

Vasilev watched the demon pace about. “I have done my best. I am trying to update the language of the program to work on these new computers, but I am not a computer expert.”

A claw flashed out, stopping just short of Vasilev’s neck. The old man didn’t even flinch.

“I thought the program had already been updated when it was switched to the CD-ROM.”

“Somewhat, yes,” Vasilev agreed. “But that was three years ago and already computers have advanced beyond that.”

“How long will it take?”

“Anywhere from a couple of hours to a couple of days.”

“We do not have a couple of days.”

“Whether you have the time or not makes no difference in how long updating the programming will take,” Vasilev said. “There is also the additional problem of once the base programming is running, having it synched with a psychic projection. We need a way to target the warhead once it is on the virtual plane.” He spread his hands. “I don’t see that part of the system here.”

“I’m that part of the system,” Feteror said. “You get it working. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“I will try.”

Feteror shook his wings, sending a breeze through the hangar. “Try is not good enough. The problem is the computer? I will take care of it.”

He slid out of the real plane and flowed into the computer Vasilev had been working at. He raced along the electronic pathways. There was much he understood here from his time inside Zivon.

He came to the place where Vasilev had been working. To his virtual eyes, there was a logjam of data, the pieces not fitting, turned the wrong way.

He worked like a madman, twisting the data to fit, putting the pieces in place. He cleared up what he could see, then reversed his path out of the computer, re-forming into the real world in front of the old man.

“Get back to work,” Feteror snarled. “It should take you less time now.”

Feteror’s head twisted on his gnarled shoulders as the sound of inbound helicopters made its way through the metal siding of the hangar. Feteror flashed outside and watched as Leksi’s two helicopters landed and the bombs were off-loaded.

All was in place, but they could not act until the advanced computer could process the old program. Feteror would have found it humorous except for the stakes involved.

“Is everyone clear on what they have to do?” Sergeant Major Dalton was dressed in the camouflage fatigues he had worn to Bright Gate. He was striding down the corridor that led to the hangar. Lieutenant Jackson and Dr. Hammond were having to run to keep up with him.

“Clear,” Jackson said.

Hammond reluctantly nodded.

Dalton glanced at Jackson. “You remember what you have to do, right?”

She nodded.

“And?” Dalton prompted.

“We don’t do anything until you clear the way,” Jackson said.

“Roger that.” Dalton continued walking. “But the minute I take care of Chyort, you have to move quickly.” He glanced at Hammond. “Is everything set to get this started?”

“They’re still trying to get through to the Russians.”

“What about my ride?”

“It will meet you at DIA.” Hammond looked troubled. “This is going to cause a hell of a stink.”

“The stink has already started,” Dalton said. “Let’s hope we can keep it at that level. One of those nukes goes off somewhere and everything you’re worrying about right now will be insignificant. Any idea where Raisor went?”

“I’ve had Sybyl scan but no sign.”

A technician came running down the hallway. She held a small metal case in her hand. “Here’s the SATCOM link you asked for.”

Dalton took it. He walked through the door into the hangar. The blades were already turning on the Blackhawk, and the side door was open.

“Good luck!” Jackson said.

“Don’t go over until it’s clear,” Dalton warned her one last time.

“I won’t.”

Dalton climbed on board the chopper. As he slid the door shut, the platform began sliding out of the side of the mountain. The last thing he saw as they lifted off was Lieutenant Jackson watching him fly away.

Oma stared at her computer screen. Two deposits of four hundred million were sitting side by side in their separate accounts. Her husband had always told her to have her options open, to never play her hand until the last minute. She leaned back in her chair and looked at the clock. There was still time to play this just right.